


The Good Soldier

by asuralucier



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Ambiguous/Sad Ending, Belated Confessions, Getting Dressed to Die, M/M, Moral and Legal Quagmires, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Treat Fic, discussion of war crimes, self punishment, the road to hell is paved with good intentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-09-26 11:30:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20388997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier
Summary: ”It’s a fucking stupid thing you’re doing.” Ed glowered at him. “People are calling it a witch hunt. The Ishval conflict was a long time ago, Roy, why can’t you just let it go?”“Is that the way you really should be speaking to your Führer?” Roy countered. He sat down, with the weight of the world pressing onto his shoulders.“Well, maybe if I think he’d lost his damn mind,” Ed said.(Post canon: Roy Mustang becomes Führer and puts himself and others responsible for the Ishvalan Civil War on trial. Edward Elric comes to visit him one last time.)





	The Good Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookykingdomstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/gifts).

The trials began on a Tuesday evening in October, when the air in Amestris was just starting to turn cold. The bulk of the hearings were set to occur in the large boardroom in the Hesse Building on Central’s Grand Street. 

The room itself was fit for an audience of about two hundred, but census officers in charge of recording public engagement statistics counted nearly five hundred crammed in that room on day one, and on day two, the numbers trickled down, holding at just over four hundred. According to experts, this number was unlikely to change. This number held steady, unlike the Führer’s popularity ratings, which were as frivolous as the sprinkle of autumn rain. One of the tabloids started to run a daily sweepstake, declaring that all proceeds would go to a charity invested in the education of Ishvalan orphans. 

By the end of the second week, the hearings were just picking up steam. Whatever anybody had to say was interesting, and truth -- all possible iterations of it -- was pooled out in the open for all the world to see. 

Roy Mustang, Führer, had been in attendance for all sixty-five hours of testimony from bystanders, soldiers, and civilians alike. He needed a fucking break and knew he deserved one. Thank fuck it was Friday. 

“Someone to see you,” said Riza Hawkeye, whom Roy once spoke to as the person most intimate to him, but since the trials had started, they’d more or less stopped speaking unless it was absolutely necessary. Part of this new dimension to their relationship was court-mandated; part of it was not. 

“What part of I’m not giving any interviews do they _not_ understand? Has everyone gone deaf in this city?” Roy mumbled, burying his head in his hands. “Tell them to fuck off.” 

There was a pause, and then Hawkeye said, “It’s Edward Elric.” 

“Fullmetal?” It’d been some time since the name lived at the forefront of his mind. It felt odd, sticking to Roy’s tongue as if he was also struggling to recall the face that came with the name. 

“The one,” Hawkeye nodded. “He says he won’t leave until he sees you. You know how stubborn he can get. He had a good teacher.” 

Roy drew in a deep breath, and felt the world grow even heavier around him. “I didn’t know he was in Central.” 

“He’s not fifteen anymore,” Hawkeye said. “It’s not like he has to come to you for everything. Ed said he wanted to wait until Friday. But he is waiting now, and not going away.”

“Have you,” Roy started. 

“Trust me, I’ve tried. He’s prepared to set up camp,” Hawkeye gave him a long look. “You look terrible.” 

Roy pressed a hand to his temple. “Look, send him in. And -- get me some coffee? Please?” 

Hawkeye lingered near the door to Roy’s office, seemed to come to a decision. “Roy, it’s not too late to stop this. You _can_ stop this. You’re the Führer, remember? That means something in this country now. We’ve been bearing witness to that for the past two weeks.” 

Roy said, “Please just get me some coffee?” 

“I’ll have Ed bring some in,” Hawkeye said with a terse nod. “Might as well put a willing pair of hands to work.” 

Edward Elric, nineteen, somehow five inches taller than the last time Roy laid eyes on him set some coffee in front of Roy. His hands were still enough so that nothing spilled over the edge of the mug, but that somehow made the presence of his hands (both human) even more unnatural and uncanny. Ed was marginally less nice about how Roy looked, but then, he supposed that the kid -- young man -- could afford to be. He was a civilian now, unlike someone like Hawkeye, who remained officially under the Führer’s employ and so had to watch her mouth. “You look like some kind of special hell.” 

“And you,” Roy started and then couldn’t bring himself to finish. He didn’t have anything bad to say about Edward Elric anyhow, and this was only slightly surprising. He had all of his limbs back; he was no longer at the military’s disposal like some ragged, rabid dog. 

Kid almost looked human again, human and warm. Roy was suddenly exhausted all over again, more than before, by the oppressive youth of the young man who stood before him. 

“I’ve been following the hearings,” Ed said finally, breaking the silence. He slumped into a vacant chair in front of Roy's desk and tested its legs by pushing back on his heels. “I mean, most of it is _fucked up_. That wasn’t how it was!”

“Were you there?” Roy said. 

Ed opened his mouth but said nothing. 

Roy sighed, “Are you following along in person or just on the radio?” 

“The radio mostly. I just got into Central yesterday,” Ed shrugged. “I met up with Gracia and Elicia.” 

“And how are they?” Military compensations were sizable, and Roy knew that Gracia herself was from a family of good standing even without that; it was a little thing that made Roy feel better, to know that for the trouble that his ambitions had caused Maes Hughes, that the man’s family remained well-looked after. 

“They’re fine. They asked about you.” Ed watched Roy steadily. “They said you never come to dinner.” 

“I’m busy.” Roy gestured at the smattering of paperwork on his desk. He knew some of them were death warrants and he was determined to save those for last. In his own way, Roy was glad for the distraction of the hearings. It made life stand still; everyone was holding their breath.

Present company included, it would seem. 

”It’s a fucking stupid thing you’re doing.” Ed glowered at him, finally, as the second silence between them cracked like a put-upon surface carrying too much weight. “People are calling it a witch hunt. The Ishval conflict was a long time ago, Roy, why can’t you just let it go?”

“Is that the way you really should be speaking to your Führer?” Roy countered. He sat down, with the weight of the world pressing onto his shoulders and maybe even a cut or two from the shattered glass. 

“Well, maybe if I think he’d lost his damn mind,” Ed said. “It wasn’t your _fault_. You were just a soldier in the war. You had people you answered to, too, didn’t you? People who --” 

“So I was just following orders,” Roy cut him off. “Is that what you mean? That I had no brain, and was just a weapon in the hands of some monkey? That the collective military might of the mighty Amestrian army just lost its goddamn mind.” 

It would occur to Roy later that he didn’t mean to say half of those things out loud. But then he thought, fuck it, he was days behind on sleep, days behind on work, and even going home in an unmarked car was a chore because the streets were full of anger that didn’t sleep.

Ed didn’t back down an inch. “How about the Homunculi, huh? We know that they were involved. We know that if Envy hadn’t done any of the shit he did, the conflict wouldn’t have escalated the way it did and Lieutenant Colonel Hughes could still be…” 

“Don’t say it.” Roy gritted his teeth. “Don’t you dare, Fullmetal.” 

“ -- Alive.” Ed said in a rush, and the word hung there between them in the silence like a shard of jagged glass. 

Ed brought him another cup of coffee and Roy drank it, its taste black and bitter not unlike his mood. 

It was getting dark now, and the piles of paper that still littered his desk somehow grew to be something more: could ink stain souls? Words clung everywhere on a body, and now more than ever, Roy felt the heaviness of other people’s expectations and their opinions, ever cutting. He’d even stopped reading Amestris’s fifteen papers lately and it’d fallen upon poor Hawkeye to inform him of the highlights. 

“This has nothing to do with Hughes,” Roy said, willing the caffeine in his veins to become something else, maybe like the lethal acid shots that were quietly flooding the black markets from Xing. A special taskforce had been erected to deal with the problem, but ever since the start of the hearings, reports had stopped coming. This was both a good and a bad thing. “It has nothing to do with whatever guilt I might be feeling.” 

“Then what the fuck is it?” Ed spat out, eyes ablaze with gold. Roy let himself look, and even think a little, if only because he had finally, the luxury of time bleeding out. “Because you know, there are better ways to squander your hero credit. Instead of pissing everyone the fuck off.” 

Roy rather wanted to punch the little (not so little?) snot-nosed brat straight in his fucking face. He balled his right hand in a fist and thought about it some more. Thinking was good. He ought to do more of it. It said nothing of the terrible decisions Roy was probably going to make off the back of thinking, but at least he gave it a damn good shot. 

Sometimes, that was all you could do. 

“Fullmetal, I really don’t have time for this.” The words cost him. Roy couldn’t even really say why. But he knew it was the right thing to say, and it seemed, as Ed’s face screwed itself up tight in childish disbelief, exactly the thing that Ed didn’t want to hear. 

“The office of the Führer today, the rest of Amestris tomorrow.” Ed flopped backwards onto his chair once more. The force of this motion, perhaps more than the kid intended, tipped the front legs back off balance, and there was a loud _snap_ as the back legs went. 

Ed, flat on his ass, swore loudly, “Fuck!” 

Roy said, his voice as dry as sandpaper, “I bet you’ve gained weight.” 

“You calling me fat?” 

“That’s not what I said.” 

The door to Roy’s office opened and revealed Hawkeye, who had on her coat. She had her purse with her too. For a minute, she just stood there, taking in the scene and Roy thought to apologize.

But all she said was, “If you don’t need anything else, I need to get home.” 

“If I need anything, I’ve got an errand monkey right here,” Roy gestured at Ed still on the floor. “You can go. Have a good night.” 

Hawkeye said, “Good night, sir,” and closed the door. 

Roy listened as her footfalls faded down the corridor. He could tell Ed was listening too.

Then Ed said, once there was silence, “What about Colonel Hawkeye? How do you think she feels?” 

_”State your name and rank for the record, please.”_

_“Riza Hawkeye, Colonel.” Hawkeye sat straight in the unforgiving witness booth and stared straight ahead. Roy admired her posture, but only for a moment. _

_“What is your relationship to Roy Mustang?” _

_“I work for the Führer as his executive secretary. I was told by the courts that I could still work for him in such a capacity if I observed certain rules that didn’t obstruct or compromise the investigation.” _

_The Lead Prosecutor was a man named Pieter Kranz. He had a way of staring at people down the length of his nose even though he wasn’t particularly tall. “Am I to understand that you’ve been assistant to the Führer even before he ascended to office.” _

_“That’s correct.” Hawkeye said. She didn’t flinch. _

_“I’m particularly interested in your experience with Führer Mustang, then Lieutenant Colonel during the Ishval conflict. I’m to understand that you were in attendance when he burned an entire suburban block in Ishval. The 43rd District, do you recall that?” _

_“I don’t recall specifics. But I do know that the 43rd District was on the border. We were probably there to keep the peace.” _

_“Shall I remind you how many civilian casualties there were, on account on Lieutenant Colonel Mustang’s zealousness for peacekeeping? How many women? Children? Individuals far away from the war?” _

_“I don’t recall.” _

_“Did he enjoy it? Murdering civilians, I mean. Just so we’re clear.” _

_At last, Hawkeye looked away. Roy closed his eyes too. “I can’t answer that. If you want to know that, you’d have to ask him.” _

_“I plan to,” Kranz smiled at her. “Let’s move on.” _

_“The Führer is a good soldier.” Hawkeye said suddenly, with so much venom that Kranz’s smirk slipped off his face for something like a few seconds, “He is a good man, too. A man any lesser, any more a coward, wouldn’t be sitting here waiting to hang himself.”_

“Just so we’re clear,” Roy said, his mouth quirking upwards in a parody of Kranzian irony. “I don’t think I’ll die by hanging. That takes too long. I’ll still be Führer when they sentence me. I’ll probably get to choose.” 

Ed got up and examined the broken chair. “Not funny.” 

“No.” 

“Then why the fuck.” 

Roy sought refuge in his coffee. It was a wash, since his mug was empty and the caffeine in his system was settling in, heavy like sludge instead of startling him into wakefulness. He leaned back into his chair. 

“I did enjoy it.” 

Ed’s eyes narrowed. “Enjoy what?” 

“Blowing up that block. There was a convoy coming, of reinforcements. We were outnumbered, and I knew that if I didn’t, the district would be overrun. Fuck the women and children. I was a good soldier and I did what was expected of me. And I enjoyed it, knowing that whoever it was that ordered the convoy to move through that way, banked on me having a heart, having a moral center, and I fucking didn’t.” 

“But did you enjoy murder?” Ed moved around his desk and now stood directly in front of his chair, right between Roy’s knees. It was after hours and presumably, no one was left in the building. He was allowed to sit improperly. 

Roy looked at him. Roy thought, that depending on his answer, the kid might actually knee him in the testicles. 

“I don’t see a difference.” 

“Well, _I_ do,” Ed grabbed him by the shoulders. The force of his grip startled both Roy and his chair. The chair went backwards but didn’t break. Still, Roy felt oppressed by the kid’s sudden presence, the way he hadn’t ever been before. It was another sign, he thought, that he was running out of time. Ed said, “You just wanted to win a war; it’s not like you set out to kill those people.” Then he added, his voice very small, "Right?"

“I don’t remember,” Roy said. 

“Then it makes even less _sense_,” Ed scowled. But the ferocity behind his words were muffled against something and it was only after a moment that Roy realized why, and that there was a weight on his shoulder. “Wake up. Fucking _wake_ up, Roy, what the fuck are you doing?” 

Slowly, Roy raised a hand and pressed his palm flat between Ed’s shoulder blades. He felt the muscles beneath the young man’s skin twitch with liveliness and want. 

“I’m awake. I feel like I’ve been asleep for the longest time.” Roy sighed, “Do you ever feel that way, Edward?” 

“Sometimes.” Roy could feel Ed turning into the crook of his neck, getting comfortable. “You know, I’ve been summoned to testify against you. It’s why I’m in Central. If you order me not to, I won’t.” 

“I won’t disrupt court proceedings,” Roy said. “But I’d like you to do something for me anyway.” 

Ed pulled back to look at him. They stared at each other if they had time, and then they kissed, as if they had time. Roy tried to remember if Ed liked coffee. He couldn’t remember, but it wasn’t as if Ed seemed like he minded. 

“That?” Ed said, lowly. 

Roy touched the side of Ed’s face and felt him awash with young, human life even through his gloves. He almost felt like going back to sleep. “I guess that, and something else too. Will you tell the truth?” 

Ed’s mouth twisted into an unpleasant shape. “You’ve always been a selfish bastard, Mustang.” 

“A little,” Roy admitted, and leaned forward to kissed him again. He wanted for them to stop talking now. If they stopped talking, then the courts would have nothing to use against them. “If I weren't, you wouldn’t be here at all. Don't you dare lie to me.” 

It was a Wednesday morning when Edward Elric took a seat in the witness box. His posture was straight as a plank of wood. The room was crammed and silent and Roy sat in his usual place next to the panel of jurors. Some of the jurors were even Ishvalan, but it was important to Roy that they were represented accordingly. 

“State your name and rank for the record, please.” 

“Edward Elric. State Alchemist, Formerly. Though certain records might name me as the Fullmetal Alchemist.” 

“What is your relationship to the Führer, Roy Mustang?” 

“I’m someone who knows him for who he is.” Ed said, and managed a surprising measure of civility. “All of who he is, not just the worst parts of him you want to put on display.” 

“I meant your professional relationship.” Kranz didn’t take the bait. There was plenty of time. 

After that, their words faded away into a soft buzz, accentuated by the occasional flash of a camera. Roy sat very still in his chair, and looked towards the future before him.


End file.
